


What Happened in the Hallway

by openhearts



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, euphoria part 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-13
Updated: 2009-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openhearts/pseuds/openhearts
Summary: Originally posted at LiveJournal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For all of the [SHIPPERS OF EPIC TRUTH](http://enots.livejournal.com/19229.html), [](http://enots.livejournal.com/profile)[enots](http://enots.livejournal.com/) in particular. I told you I'd do it. This is the original DDseX.

"What does a guy have to do to make you hate him?"  


She’s standing in a dark, dank hallway in a baggy plastic onesy, holding a bag full of garbage, with a needlestick still barely stinging her thigh, and House is _flirting_.

She cocks her head just so slightly to one side as she looks up at him. The hood of the suit crackles a little as it falls back and her hair slinks back against her shoulders, unruly strands rolling out around her neck. Her eyes tip up and over and her shoulders barely move to lift and shift. It’s a rueful gesture meant to answer him silently the way he usually answers her, if at all. She realizes with the motion that her back is almost touching the cold grungy wall behind her and she’s glad momentarily for the containment suit.

He’s standing casually, cane wedged between his palm and the wall next to Cameron’s elbow, and through the smells of antiseptic coming from her and mold and piss coming from the walls she smells the leather. As if on cue he shifts and the jacket whines against itself insolently. Her fingers twitch toward the sound through the gloves that are easily six times larger than her actual hands. 

Her feet shift a little, one following the other forward and she inches away from the wall. His breathing is slow and measured, but audible in the near perfect silence and she lets a soft snort out at his widening eyes.

“Can we go test this now?” She gestures absently toward the bag on the floor, but doesn’t look away from him. He glances around the hallway in affected ambivalence and shrugs a little. 

“Kinda nice around here, actually. Maybe I’ll see if Officer Giggles wants to trade for my place.”

“If he lives.”

His eyes glance to her sharply in surprise. It’s a razor-thin edge between fear and fire and his eyes waiver between them on each inhale. He shuffles his own step forward and Cameron finds the wall with her shoulders again. Her mouth falls just a bit open and the breaths come and go quick and light. She hears the metallic clicking ‘zing’ of the zipper down the front of the suit and glances down.

“House?”

He draws the zipper open slowly, down to her hips before he stops. A clatter and his cane drops and suddenly she feels the air clog her throat. He smirks and reaches a hand inside and past her body to lean against the wall through the suit. There’s more than enough space inside the suit with her slight frame. His fingers splay behind her shoulder. A seam on the sleeve of her top brushes over his knuckles. 

She smirks back at him, just barely around the eyes, but it doesn’t hold. She’s tired, worried, pulled by a feeling that she’s supposed to _feel_ something about Foreman dying in a clean box in the hospital while she’s pressed between House and a dirty wall in a crappy apartment building.

“House.” 

His other hand sneaks inside the suit to press against the wall. Now her ribcage is neatly barred by his forearms and his hips are nearing to brush against the flapping halves of the suit. His expression fades to a clean slate of arrogance and aroused curiosity as his head dips down.

“What are we testing?”

He asks it and she remembers a moment later to blink because it’s his breath asking it of her neck. He’s leaning down over her like a whole other wall, just not touching, barely touching, except for here and there. Wrists against the sides of her breasts with every breath, toe of his shoe banking over hers, a button of his jacket clinking against the zipper of the open plastic suit.

“What are y-”

“The bag, Cameron.” He says it like they’re sitting in the conference room and he’s standing at the white board. As if Chase and Foreman are sitting on the bench against the other wall and Cuddy’s tapping her nails on the rotting banister at the top of the stairs at the end of the hall.

She hears the bag scrape and rustle as he kicks it away from their feet where she’d dropped it. It falls open over itself and House leans away a little to see the contents. When his head is turned she wrestles her hands out of the stupid giant gloves and steals one over the back of his neck. Her fingers press cool thin lines into his skin.

“Mildewed dishtowel?”

“To retest for staph.”

He nods, head bobbing back to her neck. Her eyes widen and roll back briefly when his next words utter back against her skin. His hips press now, and one of his hands is travelling to press against the opposite side of her neck.

“Mouse droppings?”

In spite of herself, she rolls her eyes even as her hips roll into his. He shifts back against her, his hand traveling slowly from her neck down her side to her hip. He hooks a finger through her belt loop and sways her slightly back and forth by it. 

It all strikes her as insane for a moment and she begins to puzzle through the scene they make in the hallway when he “hm?’s’” on her skin and his lips buzz over her pulse. She swallows and is rewarded by his lips parting and the brush of the tip of his tongue.

“Could carry toxocara. Explain the blindness.”

He raises his head and stares down at her with a familiar thoughtful glare. She leans her head back against the wall, not caring for the moment about the grossness probably getting in her hair. She’s wet and she thinks he knows it.

“In that other bag? Oven crud?”

His hand’s rolling circles into her hip and his fingers are suddenly foraging for skin under the waistband of her pants. 

“Could be meat with trichinella. Would explain the high fever.” 

Her hand that was on the back of his neck slides down and her nails slope into the leather over his skin. She slides one of her feet between his, and he watches her body shift in the half-light. 

He nods slowly with some familiar passing smile. Approval of her or the impromptu conference they’re performing she’s not sure. Both. She doesn’t care. She watches him under half-lidded eyes, hazy and dilated, and feels the smirk slink onto her own mouth. There’s a moment of mutual amused study.

They reach simultaneously and meet in a kiss that’s simpler than it has any right to be. Just lips and tongues, breath and stubble, and her fingers pressing into his shoulders and his good leg pressing between her thighs.

His palms tug her tighter to his torso, spreading hot and tight over the small of her back. When she sucks on his tongue he growls somewhere deep in the back of his throat and reaches down to pick up her knee and rest her foot on the bench beside them that matches the one on the other side of the hall, the one he’d been sitting on a few moments ago. 

With no preamble he’s wrenching the button and zipper open on her pants and diving with fingers against her underwear. 

Cameron peels her arms out of the sleeves of the suit- crackling unsexily her mind mutters to her. House quickly shuts it up, fingers inside the fabric and sliding. She can feel the smile, the throaty chuckle, the guttural sigh from him on her mouth and she answers him “shut up,” but it’s breathy with hands pressing lightly on either side of his skull. 

Her arms lifting from her sides makes her nipples shift against the inside of her bra and she groans lightly. He tilts his head back, fingers still working, and lets her run her lips over his throat and the collar of his jacket alike. The smell of the leather fills her head again, intoxicating and complete. 

She’s pulsing against the heel of his hand and his fingers are starting to pump inside her. His other hand is still braced on wall, suit haphazardly bunched between the wall and his hand as she’s shoved it off her shoulders. House’s shoulders falter and fall against her in a suffocating barricade when Cameron’s hand grasps against his jeans. 

Knowing theoretically that it’s there and feeling it are two different things, she decides, when the hot hard length of him is bare in her palm.

When she’s balanced against his hips, half-standing with one foot still on the bench and the other leg clenching around his back as she clings to his shoulders and he swears in to her hair, she realizes that this would change everything. Foreman could be dying by now. 

Her pants, discarded, are dangling from one foot along with the suit, half covering his cane on the floor at their feet. One of House’s hands grasps at her bare thigh up to her ass, fingers sinking into her flesh and his breath coming in hitched and labored. He’s kissing her, nearly sucking the breath out of her as she exhales. The uneven wall will leave a burn on her shoulders.

When she comes it’s with the collar of his jacket between her teeth, tears pulling at the corners of her eyes and leather yielding between her teeth and against her tongue.  
_


End file.
